


We Are Undone, But Soldier On

by Jemppu



Series: Honey Mushroom [43]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Art, Culmets - Freeform, Fanart, M/M, Tumblr, honey mushroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23837695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemppu/pseuds/Jemppu
Summary: Part of"Honey Mushroom"series of illustrated Culmets momentslisted here on tumblr.Paul's internal dialogue post Hugh, behind the scenes of the last couple episodes before the season one finale.With illustrations:"LtCmdr Paul Stamets","After Workout"and"Beneath the Uniform".
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: Honey Mushroom [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1080993
Kudos: 8





	We Are Undone, But Soldier On

**Author's Note:**

> The series gets released quite out of order, as inspiration dictates, so I urge you to check out the [series list on tumblr](https://tinyurl.com/honeyshroom) for a better picture of the whole.

## 

## We Are Undone, But Soldier On

**War In My Mind**

Paul wasn’t sleeping. He hadn’t slept a wink since coming to from his 'mycelial network coma’, at least 24 hours ago. Not that he didn’t want to. He absolutely did. That’s all he wanted right now - just to close his eyes and forget for a while. But how could he, when he couldn’t even allow himself the circumstances, where he could try.

He was sitting in the mess hall, tinkering with his PADD, but lost in his thoughts for now. He was keeping his mind busy by recording a personal mental log, skimming through all the things they had just been through aboard Discovery.

The first thing he had gotten to without delay after waking up from his coma, had been to try and save his spore crop. After that had failed, the crew had concentrated their efforts to jumping back to their own universe using up all of his already harvested crops. Upon arrival - nine months on to where they had actually left - they had learned, that the war they had left from had shifted in favor of the Klingons, and admiral Cornwall - who had beamed aboard the ship with a convoy - had plotted a jump back to Starbase 1. A plan which had again relied upon Paul’s expertise. They had found the base destroyed, were forced to run, left warping through space aimlessly, bidding time. Next step in their plan had come from Paul himself; they would try and terraform a moon to harvest spores in order to perform jumps needed to realize admiral Cornwall’s next plan. They had succeeded in doing so, and were currently parked in the Veda system, harvesting spore crops from moon Delta 2.

These were the cold facts, stoically presented as they would appear recorded on the ship’s log as well. If such a thing was still in active use - the Starfleet they knew had been all but obliterated and was now functioning under increasingly militant command from the Federation. They might not have wanted all their actions in this erratic war recorded.

Indeed, even his very own discoveries regarding the properties of the mycelial network had been commanded to be locked up under top secret files, away from anyone but the most restricted few to see. Heck, Paul wasn’t sure if even his own credentials would soon be enough to grand him access to these files anymore. He would surely feel mad about this still - of being robbed years of his research - but right now, he wasn’t in the state of mind to care.

The tea next to him was getting ignored as well.

That all they had been through had happened in such a rapid-fire succession felt unreal. Had it only been a day? Two maybe? He had no idea how he had survived through all of this without as much as a wink. Maybe the 'mycelial coma’ was to thank for that - had it maybe nourished Paul somehow enough to survive inhumanly long without rest? Or was this just denial of an actual exhaustion? It wouldn’t be the first time for him, though maybe the most severe.

The longest break he had had away from his work had been, when he changed from the jumpsuit he had woken up in, into his Starfleet regulations uniform. He had ordered the uniform, which had been left in the sickbay since his first confinement there, to be fetched for him, so he could change in the relative comfort of the engineering department’s breakroom without leaving his tasks unattended. Or that was the reason he told himself, for why he couldn’t go visit the sickbay himself. Of course he knew it wasn’t the complete truth.

This had all happened in a hurry in between gathering info on the crops and trying to save as much as was to be saved. Which had turned out to be nothing. Years of his work wasted away, while he was 'sleeping’. Showed just how one should never leave their work unattended, Paul squibbed in his mind.

Paul yawned, and focused on the scene at the mess hall now. For an outside observer things must’ve looked much like they would in any other evening on the Discovery.

The day’s most urgent duties were over. And after the spore harvest initiation and subsequent first observations, things were now calming down enough, that he had dared to step away from his desk for a bite. After over 24 hours. Paul felt like he was failing a certain nagging voice he had in his head.

He was still tinkering with his PADD laying on the table in front of him, just like he usually did, but not really reading anything. Just pretending. Pretending to himself. Waiting for something. Observing people around him - the people whom he had usually found so annoyingly distracting.

And they were distracting now too - as hell. Or they would’ve appeared so, if he wasn’t now fully welcoming it all. With open arms. Now, he relied upon the distraction.

There were all these new and foreign thoughts in him that Paul was desperate not to have manifest too clear in his mind. But despite the distractions he couldn’t help it. They came in flashes.

Right now, the thought of having to have lived to experience this day; that he found himself thankful of a war. It felt an absurd idea, but it was the honest truth for him right now. He was thankful the war provided him more than enough duties to fulfill. He was thankful things were not at all ordinary around his not at all ordinary situation.

And another fact he tried his hardest not think about, but was occasionally reminded of by something - like these people meeting and greeting each other in the mess hall around him now.

For the first time ever Paul was alone on this ship.

He hadn’t been back to their quarters yet. Heck, if he wasn’t able to bring himself to visit the sickbay, there was no way he could survive a ‘return home’. Not that he would’ve had much of a chance before this anyway. Now was the first time the thought for such an opportunity even arose. No, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go there to an empty home.

If it even was that anymore. Home. Just a place filled with memories, which he wanted to call happy memories, but which had been suddenly tainted. They were painful memories now. And he felt sadness over this loss as well. Or he would have, if he allowed himself to. Even now he was trying his hardest not to concentrate on this thought too much.

The empty gaze on Paul’s face shifted to a mildly confused one, as he was momentarily brought back from his thoughts. He shifted his posture on the chair and turned his concentration to the row of lamps on the ceiling and the single flashing light at the end of it.

The ship was in disarray and his team had as great a role in getting things fixed as any of the other sections of engineering or other departments. Along with his duties with the spores, the jumps, and keeping his own team organized and productive, it had been a full day of headbutting with other department heads as well.

Some of whom, as Starfleet officers, could be quite a lot more military-minded, than Paul with his civilian background would ever consider himself to be.

Though, even as Starfleet’s principles lay upon exploration and research, an organization that size demanded military level governing and discipline.

Not to even speak of managing the manpower it took to handle the array of equipment in the organization’s use, some of which required years of devout specialist training. And some of it specifically designed for warfare - weapons. Even though their intended purpose within the organization might have been assigned to 'defense’.

In fact, Paul definitely felt he was in a minority of people in Starfleet, who didn’t take to the militantly disciplined side of the organization. He was no real officer after all: he had never gone through the usual years of Academy training.

For Paul, Starfleet was but a vessel for his scientific ambitions, opportunity to get to work on his research in astromycology without having to waste time and efforts worrying over how to get his research funded anymore. Not to even speak of the immense opportunities of getting the work tested in practical use that came with the organization’s workforce and equipment.

And although his time on the Discovery was the first Paul had to directly deal with these militant types regularly himself, he had witnessed these kinds before - the research facilities and laboratories he had toured and worked with previously had many been under some form of militant like governing. Dealings and collaborating with these factions were conducted with militant discipline.

But even as his was but a title granted - so he could with some conviction lead the team of Starfleet Engineers and Scientists on his tenure as the Discovery’s Head of Engineering - he was still aware of the training infused into the Starfleet Academy educational program from the ground up. Every and each one of the cadets had to have some basic knowledge of combat and weapon handling before each of them could even move up on their respective programs, what ever those might have been. He had seen, that for some it took better than for others, what ever their field of expertise would end up being in the service.

Paul paused his line of thought. He could feel his mind wondering towards perilous territories. Would it be safe to continue on this path? Surely he had already processed these thoughts previously? But at his current state, he couldn’t be sure of anything. No matter, the thought had already manifested. And it didn’t seem like he was about to break under it. He sank back into his thoughts.

Of their original two men scientific research team with Straal, Paul had been the one, who had resisted the idea of teaming up with Starfleet. He had despised the idea - and still did - of anyone getting their hands on their research and using it in warfare or in any way to aid their selfish ambitions.

Straal had however insisted on joining the fleet, with or without Paul, and rather than break up their over a decade long collaboration, Paul had let himself get dragged along to joining the Fleet.

Move which - as unbecoming as it otherwise was - had yielded some seriously groundbreaking results in the research. Which Paul had to admit, they would’ve never had been able to discover, much less test in practice, had they stayed in their lab on the ground.

On top of the crash course in Starfleet customs, regulations and practices, they had had to attend to prior to and in the first steps of the mission, Paul had had to start learning starship engineering and navigation on the job, to fully grasp the practical applications their research could have for space travel, as well as to understand the ship he was designing for and to get to know it’s navigational capabilities.

It had also seemed hard at first as the greenest in the group of trained Starfleet Engineers to try and lead them with any authority, and with the discipline the Fleet ranks demanded. Which Paul never cared for anyway, and felt he still struggled to upkeep at times.

There were things he was still learning about everyday as he went along.

Thankfully though, on a science vessel like Discovery, there were still good deal of the purely academic types as well. So the ship’s daily life didn’t run on complete, strict military discipline.

Even though Paul’s own picks for his team were never passed, not even those closest to his own research. He had had to go on working with complete strangers, of whose skill levels he knew nothing about.And most of the ones on this ship, who leaned on the militant side didn’t seem to all be complete 'jarheads’ either - rather a milder officious variety.

These 'military men’ did tend to fill the commanding positions though - understandably - and were now the ones Paul had to deal with to get his way. These people took charge easily, and often the encounters seemed to Paul, like what it must have been for them back in their Academy, with the more scholarly types of them going along with what ever the more imposing class leaders were up to.

Obviously Paul could absolutely respect a person with high devotion to their respective field of expertise - regardless of their specialty - but that was just it. In these situations of personnel handling and group morale boosting, it wasn’t Paul’s field of expertise. He knew he didn’t have much to contribute amongst the 'military leader’ types in how things got handled. He felt unnecessary. And he knew that’s how he appeared to these individuals as well. Especially now that they were in a war, and these officious people assumed authority over the more scholarly minded scientist-types aboard the vessel. With good reason.

In Lorca these people had lost a great supporter of 'dictatorial discipline’ from the commanding chain. An Paul had sensed there were few, who were upset about the fact, that it was him - “the mushroom scientist” - who sat in with the commanding officers and ambassadors to discuss war plans, while they probably weren’t even consulted.

Paul was jolted back to the moment by a bump to the table he was leaning against. A passing by Ensign smiled at him apologetically, seemingly about to stop to apologize further. Paul waved this off with a small acknowledging handwave, letting them move on.

He leaned his face on his hand and turned his look to the whole scene in the mess hall. His gaze slowly glazed over into nothing as he sank into his thoughts again.

Oh, and on top of all the harvest care, jumping across universes, repair work and department management they had somehow managed to create whole new life. A **_moon full_** of life.

* * *

**The Miracle of Life**

If it had been it’s primary mission, as a science vessel, the Discovery would have already had fulfilled a great purpose. The man hours and efforts of the crew of researchers, equipment handlers, programmers, controllers and specialists on several other fields had finally bore fruit.

Paul had gotten a change to experience something today, which apart from successfully navigating the mycelial network, was now the ultimate highest pinnacle of his whole career. A creation in a scale quite unfathomable by human mind. Something he had spent years preparing for. Something which was the reason he had ever gotten to the field of astromycology in the first place - the awe of life. He got to see his lost friend’s first and final contribution to the research, his preciously stored sample, yield to something marvelous. They had “gone wild”. They had created life.

Yet now? He couldn’t let himself enjoy any of it. He couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him. Good, or bad. He knew, if he let one get through, they’d all come rushing out.

Wasn’t he maybe supposed to be writing a congratulatory speech or some such 'leadery’ gesture for the vast crew, who’s efforts had made this all possible? It didn’t feel possible or even necessary now. Right now - sitting there by the tea he was letting get cold - he was actively trying to wipe it all under a rug, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The spores were currently being successfully harvested - he could keep watch with the updates on his PADD - and everything was going smoothly as far as this task was concerned. It had just been one of many of his duties today. And he - they - had gotten it done. Immaculately. Perfectly orchestrated, flawlessly executed. On the first try.

Paul stopped his train of thought. He was dangerously close to feeling pride. He had for a fleeing moment allowed that feeling take hold of him on the bridge after the success of the terraforming initiation. There it had been safer to let the feeling show - it served to satisfy the onlookers. Michael’s touch on his shoulder had alerted him on this and he had instantly tried to push the feeling aside again. Carefully, so as not to have it appear obvious to anyone.

But there he had indeed had the safety of social conduct on his side. He couldn’t allow his emotions to take hold even that little now - not, when he was alone with his thoughts.

Paul had always had the 'problem’ of showing too much of himself on his face. He had heard remarks about it as well - his emotions showed through quite easily. That was why, when ever he felt his feelings too exposed or wanted to remain 'unreadable’ he adopted that stern, irritated look on him - his 'on-duty face’. But that was just to mask his feelings. It worked to cover them, not to push them aside.

To truly try and push his feelings away, he had to experiment with something more radical now. He had to appear content. Indifferent. Calm. He had to look as if he was… okay. To push aside his agony, he was finally learning to feign a smile.

He almost hoped, that if he did that long enough, maybe it would take hold. Like on those rare occasions when he would have had so much fun he’d feel too exposed and furrow his brows again to try and stifle himself…

…Paul could feel it happening right now. He was furiously furrowing his brows again. What was he trying to hide?

It was the sudden thought of Hugh, who had found the aspect of Paul feeling exposed for showing his happiness as pitiably amusing. And the thought, that those attempts to hide his joy often just ended up with Paul laughing through his 'angry face’. And it had been Hugh, who often remarked on his 'all revealing’ face as well. Hugh was the one who could read it - who was permitted to read it. Paul wasn’t sure if others could - he had never allowed it to show enough, for them to have learned the 'language’. He didn’t want to expose himself like that to everyone. Not to anyone, but…

Paul felt he was losing his grip. He raised his brows to high arches and opened his eyes wide, while readjusting his hunched posture on the chair. Quickly wiping the moisture off the corner of his eye he glanced around to see, if anyone was watching.

No-one seemed to have noticed. Good.

* * *

**Old Man Stamets**

Paul had - between his numerous duties - had the sense of requesting a temporary residence. That had been, when he was being hailed to the sickbay for a check-up for the first time _(there had been several attempts)_ , and when he had realized he didn’t have any place to 'hide’, if things came to that - if he would suddenly have to separate himself from his work and duties.

He had been granted replacement residence without questions - surely because of his current personal situation - a cabin on the lower starboard decks with the crew, close to his own engineering control room. Seemed perfect. Familiar to his work. He didn’t want to be reminded of any other familiarities now.

But he still didn’t feel he was ready to go down there either - to leave the safety of a public place the mess hall provided. Even though he was free now to do as he pleased - his supposed shift had already ended couple hours ago. Or at least the most recent of the shifts, the typical evening shift of the engineers.

His own schedule - as the department head and the sole proprietor of his own research project aboard the ship - had always been rather undefined anyway. And now he had burned through all of the shifts non-stop. It wasn’t like there was anyone stopping him. He felt he was his own supervisor again, like he had always been before Discovery. And under the current extraordinary circumstances, no-one around the ship seemed quite sure of the routines anyway.

The commanding section seemed indeed quite busy with their war plotting and figuring out these unusual circumstances, and thus had left the handling of the crew solely on their respective department heads’ discression. Paul had insisted, that his department at least kept their accustomed rotation, even if it meant they would have less crew on active duty on any given shift. This was against most of the other department leaders’ protests, as they deemed necessary for as many souls as possible to be kept on duty at all times.

But hell, if Paul would let them dictate how to run his own department. To him it felt like too much hustle to try and fuck up the department’s well established schedules. Less for everyone to figure out amongst all the other stuff that was going on, if they just stuck with the norm. Why mess with the already hectic circumstances with another completely unfamiliar aspect.

Besides, what Paul had overheard in engineering, most of those who weren’t signed on active duty had proven willing to voluntarily sign for maintenance tasks around the decks anyway. It wasn’t like there was currently much else to do on the ship. Leisure wasn’t exactly the first thing on anyone’s bucket list at the moment it seemed.

Least of all Paul’s.

He pulled up the spore harvesting data again. Everything was running smoothly. Dang it. Some minor glitch would’ve been welcome now. He was running out of things to mull over and all this sitting was starting to take a toll on his back.

But he wasn’t ready to be left alone. He knew that much.

He turned his eyes up from the PADD he hadn’t been paying attention to anyway and watched people walk in and out of the mess hall. Sitting down and casually chat among themselves. For the first time he seemed to really take notice how young the crew looked. Most of them couldn’t have been into their thirties yet. What were these youngsters doing in a war?

Paul had a sudden apprehension of his age run through his mind - for a second there he felt old. It wasn’t a new feeling by any means, or something he would’ve been completely unfamiliar with. Every once in a while this feeling reared it’s head, especially on occasions when he would catch himself acting 'not his age’.

And now it came with a gratefulness - a realization, that he had lived his life this long without experiencing war. He had been able to pursue the career he had wanted and live a life relatively free of restrictions.

That wasn’t something you could now say of these young ones here. If the war was to rage on, the best years of their young lives would be pretty much sealed to the service of the Federation, and to those more militant sections of the Starfleet. Even the most scientific minded of them would be forced to put their knowledge and know-how - their beloved researches - into aiding war efforts. Like he had for a brief while found himself to be used for under Lorca’s command.

Until an end could be reached with the war - if an end could be reached - and who knew what then.

Paul jolted. He had just actually nodded off for a second. All these thoughts of war and conflict were actually wearing him off. Maybe now would be a good time to go try get some sleep, the voice in his head encouraged.

He got up, grabbed his PADD and the untouched tea, dropped the useless drink off to the dishes collecting line and headed for the exit.

On his way out he side-glanced to a table of science Ensigns chattering away nonchalantly. One of the Ensigns noticed Paul’s look and gave him a small affectionate smile.

Paul noticed he was showing the grief on his face again and quickly furrowed his brows in a stern look turning his gaze away and walked out of the mess hall. What a grumpy old man he was turning into.

* * *

**Corridor Confrontations**

Paul continued walking the corridors with the same stern look on his face. His pace was brisk and step firm, but he wasn’t really in a hurry to get to his destination. He just wanted to make sure he appeared busy, so that no-one would think to interrupt him.

This might have been a good sign - all through the day he had tried to find any distractions. Now that he was actively avoiding them - in his usual fashion - must’ve meant, that he was ready to try and get some sleep. He was tired.

He had had the most unwanted confrontation in these corridors today too. Running into Tyler. The man, who had… he didn’t even want to think it. Let alone say it out loud. Put he had had to. At that moment he had been cornered into it. He almost couldn’t, but he had braced himself to be brave. His voice had broken doing so.

Paul wasn’t even remotely a violent man - not even confrontational unless provoked - but this time he had felt himself filling with rage he had rarely experienced. If ever. And it had been sorely uncomfortable.

He had only one thought, that had kept him together. It was the same thought that had hold him together this far, all through the day, and was still keeping him collected. It kept him from losing himself over to the grief, the anger, the agony, the fear, the loneliness… it kept him going. It was a simple thought he kept repeating to himself, when ever faced with a decision:

_“What would Hugh want me to do.”_

The only thing preventing him from either lashing out to Tyler, or breaking down sobbing right then and there, had been exactly that as well.

“Does it gut you?” Paul had hissed at Tyler. If he could let himself feel anything, he would’ve enjoyed watching Tyler squirm. But he knew Hugh wouldn’t have approved of that, of the kind of man he would be, if he enjoyed seeing his fellow man suffer.

“Good.” Paul had managed a response to Tyler’s admission of remorse. It was the truth. Hugh would appreciate the truth, “Maybe you’re still human after all.”

Biting sarcasm. Hurtful, scornful sarcasm. It had been Paul’s saving grace then more than ever. But it was a weak comfort. He had known he had to get out of the situation as fast as possible, or risked doing something Hugh wouldn’t have approved of. Something he himself wouldn’t have approved of, if it had been about anything else than Hugh.

He had wanted to run off in somewhere private. In their quarters. But couldn’t; there wasn’t comfort there. After storming the corridors aimlessly for a while he had decided to just return to engineering, where he had been heading to anyway, before being so detestably disrupted. It would be full of people, which had felt fine right then. He had never been so thankful to have those noisy junior officers around.

This was the first time Paul had gotten frustrated for the silence that had fallen in the room as he had stepped in. “Go on”, he had screamed in his mind, “talk, you social bastards! You know you want to”. Just talk like he wasn’t there at all. His furious glances again hadn’t of course helped on the matter at all.

He had needed any and all the distractions he could find. So he had immersed himself to his work again. He had received a hail to his PADD from Dr Pollard for a check-up on the sickbay, and came to a conclusion, that he needed to arrange himself some temporary residence.

* * *

**Unzip Me, Love**

Paul had now arrived to his temporary cabin and had quite simply just walked over to the bunk and sat down on the edge of it, without even bothering to turn on the lights in the room. He should try and get some sleep.

He was afraid to let go of the few scattered thoughts in his head still, lest it got too quiet in there. He was staring into the emptiness of the room, concentrating on nothing in particular.

Again he thought, how they had come through extraordinary things. It still didn’t feel like it had been just a day - was it two? They were lost in a strange war. The Starfleet they had known wasn’t anymore. And if they had ventured out onto Federation planets, they’d see it wasn’t the world they knew, when they had left.

It didn’t feel like home. Good. He couldn’t be at home now. Would it ever feel like home again? What was home anymore? Did it matter?

The ship was a mess. And the crew morale… Paul couldn’t really tell. He didn’t care either. Everyone of the crew seemed to have loosened up on the dress code, from the crew to the commanding officers. And were less keen on saluting fellow officers passing by. Was it out of strengthened solidarity - were they no longer just crew mates, but a family now? Or was it loosened group morale? No-one caring about the protocols anymore? Little did it matter to Paul.

He had made a personal point of keeping everything as if nothing was out of ordinary. The immaculate uniform included. This was why the Fleet had regulations to follow in the first place, wasn’t it? For the purpose of providing support in unusual circumstances. Help them wade through hardships with dignity.

All he had seen throughout the day were things needing preparing, crew needing organizing, tasks to be completed, crops to be harvested. Universes to be jumped… which had passed him by just like that as well - another task completed.

Paul looked down to his neatly zipped up uniform jacket, playing with the hem of it a bit. Then let go, turned his gaze somewhere in the distance again and let out a deep and disheartened sigh.

Even still he couldn’t take it off. Not even loosen the collar to relax a bit. This of course wasn’t about regulations anymore - he was ready to try and unwind. This was a whole another issue, one that wasn’t as easy to just put aside.

All day the voice in his head had guided him. He had kept himself together and pushed on, following the thought of what would Hugh expect him to do.

But this wasn’t for Hugh. This was **about** Hugh, but he knew this was for himself. In fact, if Hugh were here now he’d tell Paul he was being unnecessarily uptight _(as usual)_ and would’ve told him to loosen up.

Hell, now that he had let the thought come out he had to, didn’t he. It was what Hugh would’ve wanted.

But it wasn’t easy, getting out of that uniform. This was something he had become so accustomed to doing with Hugh around. Have Hugh undress him, have them undress together, have Hugh watch him undress… this had become a partner routine. One which he wasn’t prepared to do alone now, it seemed.

This was ridiculous, Paul suddenly found himself thinking, furrowing his brows again, cursing in his mind how weak he could be. Grown man, having hard time undressing? Laughable sentimentality. He wouldn’t like Hugh seeing him this weak.

Paul unfastened his collar. Then with one swift motion unzipped the jacket all the way down. Like ripping off a bandaid.

Flashes of memories of Hugh’s touch against his chest flooded into Paul’s mind. He narrowed his eyes fighting against the oncoming tears. No. He would not cry in front of Hugh. He would not upset him.

Paul stood up quickly, removed his jacket and flung it on the bed much more violently than necessary. He went on to pace around the small room irately, trying to calm himself down by glimpsing through the tiny cabin windows. Nothing much to see there, and the bright hull lights blocked even what little there could’ve been to see.

Fuck, this was absurd.

Cursing seemed to help calm him down a little, and he could sense a thought creeping up to him. The thought he had tried hard to keep away the whole day and which had almost caught him off guard couple times.

It too **was** what Hugh would’ve wanted him to do. But Paul himself didn’t want to. He’d rather just get angry at it. But he was too tired of fighting it anymore.

“No, dammit! I can’t!” he cried out into the empty room, fists clenched, whole body tense with anger.

He had finally heard it. The voice. Hugh’s voice trying to calm him down, “Paul. You need to let yourself be upset. You need to let the tears come.”

Paul flumped down trying to catch his breath, and didn’t even hit the bed, but instead fell right down to the cold hard floor, his whole body trembling, desperate to release all the day’s built up tension.

He was strewn there on the floor, on his knees, leaning forward on his hands, completely lost on how to compose himself and finding it harder and harder to get a grip, until his heavy breathing turned into full blown heaving. Then one final gasp and he lost it. His grip.

It was like slipping on an icy mountain path you had tried your hardest to keep a heavy footing on. He was sobbing uncontrollably, braicing himself to hit the rocks below.

But to his surprise, the hit didn’t come. His sobbing continued, but instead it felt like he had been lowered to layers upon layers of feathery pillows.

He had enough control of himself then to sit up to lean against the bed. He curled there, hugging his knees and just let it all happen. He cried. He cried like he had never before.

[ ](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/190127395874/after-workout-hugh-culber-one-of-the-most)

**Sinking Into a Dream**

The starboard side’s crew gym was just about to close for the day. The dressing rooms were filled with a sea of dark Disco-shirts strewn about and a jovial banter filled the air.

Paul wasn’t certain about coming here, but it felt like he couldn’t go to bed before doing this. The cry had eased some of the weight on his mind, and left him feeling invigorated enough to have ventured here. Or numb enough, so that he had stopped feeling his exhaustion?

He walked in quite apprehensively, wearing just his uniform undershirt, pants and boots, carrying a Starfleet standard issue toiletry bag with him _(few others of those were presently scattered around the room too)_.

Paul had never been comfortable 'showing flesh’ in public and would get quite self-conscious wearing just a T-shirt. But even though it wasn’t the most agreeable feeling walking around this 'undressed’ - with his arms completely exposed - after the struggle and the eventual relief of getting the uniform jacket off, he didn’t miss putting it back on for a while. He was here just for a quick wash before bed.

He stood at the doorway just long enough to scan the unfamiliar room. As he did so, he could feel few glances on him. Fair enough, he probably wasn’t the kind usually seen here. Spotting the sinks across the room he then proceeded stepping further into the crowd.

This really wasn’t his kind of territory, and while crossing the room he was trying to stay the course, but obviously this much movement around there were few inevitable dodges to be made. He felt uneasy with people brushing against him.

Some of the more senior looking men in the crowd must have recognized him as he got the occasional casual salute passing by. Or maybe they just greeted a fellow 'outsider’ in solidarity - this seemed to be young men’s turf after all. Paul would respond to them with an acknowledging nod; without uniforms it was hard to tell who was outranking whom.

Of the glimpses he dared to take, he could determine this was indeed a rather different cast from the one he had gotten accustomed to hanging around in the engineering. Lots of rowdy, able bodied crew abound - many as young as half his age it seemed, which made Paul more uncomfortable still to be noticing them.

If this was the kind of crowd Hugh normally hung around, maybe he should’ve been a bit more wary as to why his man enjoyed his time at the gym so much.

“I could never get you to come here with me!” He could almost hear Hugh’s response in his head.

“Well, I’m here now.” Paul thought to himself, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes as though he’d been conducting this conversation for real and trying to get something across with his facial cues, “you know this is not my scene, but understand I don’t have much of a choice right now.”

Paul realized he was displaying his inner dialogue on his face again and quickly turned his stern expression back on. A passing by Ensign, who had been checking him out just then, shot a startled look at him - clearly reacting to Paul’s apparent abrupt irritation, probably thinking it was them he was suddenly 'mad’ at.

Clearly these men weren’t all too comfortable with his presence either, but that was hardly new to Paul with his “fuck off face” on. Who would be. That was the whole point of his usual 'on duty -face’ - a way to keep people a good distance away and those around him on their toes.

The area around the sinks wasn’t much more calmer. People swarming around in various states of undress. Paul parked himself in front of a sink and tried his best to ignore the traffic around him and concentrate on the task at hand. He proceeded to his cleaning up, while letting the chatter echo in his ears, blocking out all unnecessary thoughts.

Once he had gotten his toothbrush out and was in midst of cleaning his teeth, staring somewhere into emptiness in front of the mirrored wall, he was now completely oblivious of the world around him. Like lost in a dream. It must have been only muscle memory that kept his toothbrush going back and forth, while he kept staring into the thin air, on his face the expression of immense sorrow. 

The chatter around him sounded nothing more than like ocean waves breaking against rocks in a distance anymore. As the memories started to rush in, he could feel tears starting to gather in the corner of his eyes. But he didn’t care. It hurt like hell, but he would cry it out. He was somewhere far away now.

“Lieutenant Stamets, isn’t it?” Paul was brutally disrupted, when an eager sounding crewman suddenly appeared by his side.

A plethora of emotions from furious to terrified must have ran through Paul’s face in a matter of seconds, as he tried to compose himself from this intrusion.

Once settling to a wildly confused, he quickly focused on his reflection again to makes sure he wasn’t in fact currently displaying full waterworks. He wasn’t. He didn’t really turn to the man, just re-adjusted his gaze a bit to catch a glimpse of them from the mirror. Then quickly moved his gaze back at his own reflection.

Well, now he felt even more intimidated; the boy - as he had just reassessed - was wearing nothing but a flimsy towel around their waist. Paul’s reflection was now throwing that fierce frown back at himself.

“Sir, it’s an honor”, the distractingly bare chested youth chimed excitedly, “what you did today, with the spores, sir - amazing.”

Paul struggled to manage a measured “mm-hmm…” with a distinct look of disdain on his face, while continuing to wiggle the toothbrush in his mouth like he had anything to clean there anymore. He was bracing himself for a cumbersome set of introductions and all such crap.

The boy however, seemingly content with having gotten a moment with their 'hero’, did a quick respectful bow and turned to holler at someone in the crowd behind them, leaping away as quickly as they had appeared.

Paul felt a relief wash over him and only just noticed how he had tensed up as his shoulders now relaxed.

“Shit, this is awful” Paul whispered out loud, leaning with his hands to the edge of the sink, “how do you ever stand this?” he asked Hugh in his mind, and was surprised to see a hint of a smile on himself from the mirror, “Don’t think this will become a habit. It’s just for now. Until we can get your Honey Mushroom sorted out.”

[ ](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/190574129579/beneath-the-uniform-encouraged-by-that-one-tiny)

**Boys From the Port**

Paul did a quick rinse of his face, reached out to a near-by shelf to grab a clean, replicator fresh towel and dapped his face dry.

Paul was ready to leave. He packed up his toiletries, threw the towel to the provided bin and turned to leave.

As he walked back through the dressing rooms - now somewhat sedated to his initial unease with the nature of the place - he found himself noticing the people occupying it in a somewhat new light. All these men, boys. What ever their reasons for joining the Starfleet had been, all of these youngsters they were soldiers now. Yet, they seemed to carry on so normally. As if nothing could phase them. Was it due to their youth? This all was making Paul feel old again - but this time in a much more forlorn way.

Just as he was about to step out of the dressing room Paul heard a voice behind him, “Lieutenant Stamets, excuse me, sir”.

Another young one stood behind him - this in clothes at least, Paul determined turning his cold and scornful gaze on them. An engineer Ensign with their uniform jacket wide open, and damp, reddish hair wanting to hang loose in front of their eyes.

Paul had been so ready to leave already and was tired of trying to avoid eye contact, which clearly wasn’t even working too well with this crowd. The contact had been initiated, so he might as well stare them down with all his might, trying to scare off any of their excess enthusiasm.

Didn’t seem to be working - the youth’s eyes remained steadfastly frank, staring at him, like waiting for something.

Oh, Paul just now realized which type he was dealing with here. “Yes, Ensign?” he delivered a dry, firmly toned admission to address their senior.

The Ensign’s eyes beamed, but quickly adopted a more resolute look.

“Sir, we just wanted to say”, they started by gesturing to a gathered group of fellow Ensigns behind them, “that your exemplary leadership through these past days has served as an inspiration to us all, sir.”

Paul was still too busy scanning the group behind them to really hear what the boy was saying. His scathing gaze across the crowd was causing a wave of nervous expressions, poorly concealed unease and shifty eyes in the group. Paul was well familiar with this and knew to concentrate on the ones, that **didn’t** flinch. He thought he recognized couple of the men in the group - these were part of the crew from the port side engineering.

“We wanted to tell you, sir…”, the boy continued, shaking Paul back to the moment and saving their fellows from the Lieutenants’ mental harassment, “…how your demeanor has served as an example for all of us crew onboard. The way you’ve handled the crew management…”, the boy looked as if he was about to show signs of cracking under Paul’s continued stern gaze, but carried on unscathed, “the way you demanded your department keep their established schedule made it to us at the Port engineering too, as well as some other departments, that we know of. All of whom have now managed to convince our senior officers to adapt to this arrangement as well, sir.”

Paul’s frown showed no signs of cracking, but underneath he found himself increasingly confused. He felt his eyes must have been shifting fuddled beneath his frown, but couldn’t tell if that was registering to the group. He remained silent… and judgy.

“We are glad to have this one familiarity to keep us grounded. And allow us to **voluntarily** show our support with the repair efforts”, the Ensign continued his heartfelt confession, “it means a lot, sir, to be able to choose our own tasks to help with." 

Their eyes firmly locked on to Paul’s empty, stern gaze still. Paul wasn’t about to give anything. The boy looked as if he was about finished, their eyes making a quick shift aside. But then returned to meet Paul and they continued on in their intensely earnest manner.

"You’re the only senior around we’ve seen not budge on Starfleet regulations, and demanding things get done as they usually would. We are grateful we have been allowed to continue our originally assigned tasks and not abandon our work completely.”

“Furthermore”, the Ensign continued, now looking like they were starting to struggle to find form for the words, choosing them carefully, “your continued respect for the Starfleet officer’s… demeanor.” The boy’s eyes shifted aside, “the… expected appearance… and the respect for the uniform-code, sir.” The eyes returned to look up, “serve as an example we should all aspire to. Even in these uncertain times. Sir.”

The Ensign concluded with a slight decisive nod, straightened their posture further and raised their hand to a salute. The group behind them followed suit.

Paul didn’t know what to do with this sudden and unexpected praise. He was still just standing there staring at the group like they had just severely insulted him. This was all too new information for him to process here in the confinements of this unwanted social encounter. He needed time to gather his thoughts on this, to even begin to appreciate any of it. Shit, like he didn’t have enough things to process. He didn’t need this crap.

“Thank you. Ensign.” Paul managed coldly, with a stern look on his face, and made a small acknowledging nod to the group.

What he got in return was another swift synchronized salute. Paul was quite taken aback of the intensity of this whole exchange.

Brows still firmy furrowed, Paul’s gaze shifted to nothing for a while as he took a moment to himself, trying to figure out ways to get out of the situation. He snapped back suddenly, remembering where he was and collected his posture, glimpsing back at the group, all still standing there proudly, looking at him.

“At ease”, Paul uttered with a tone he was sure must’ve registered at least in some degree as a question.

To see the group visibly relax on his 'permission’ made him feel further uneasy. This kind of behavior was something reserved for commanding officers - military men. Which he was not, nor would ever considered himself to be. And to see it in full display like this, made this an uncomfortably dominant position to be in.

It was beginning to make Paul aware of things in his own demeanor. Things he wasn’t ready to deal with here now, in public, under surveillance.

These men were showing nothing but respect for Paul and he couldn’t find it in himself to respond in kind. Hell, even if he could, he wasn’t sure if these men expected it, or wanted it. He was losing what ever social game this was. He felt weak again. He wanted out.

He turned his gaze away to conceal the confusion in his eyes he was sure must’ve been showing even through the scowl and gave the group another nod, then turned and decisively walked out of the room.

Few steps down the corridor he could hear the dressing room erupt into delighted laughter and celebratory whoops behind him. These were strong men. Stronger he had ever been, it felt. Why were they so appreciative of such a mess like him?

* * *

**Sorry Paul**

Thoughts were running wild in Paul’s mind as he stormed through the dim, quiet lower deck corridors. Amongst all that infuriating kowtowing, there had been sentiments there, which had made Paul question his own behavior and convictions.

Sure, he could be bossy with his mannerism, but that was just his defense mechanism, to assure people kept their distance. He often even felt guilty for using this against people, especially on the crew directly under his supervision, who were probably - he now realized - mistaking this behavior for expectations for respect of his seniority, and had no place in responding to his scorn with nothing but acceptance.

Paul didn’t mind people treating him back with reservation, or finding him a difficult person to deal with. That was the point, that was to be expected.

But these men were seemingly immune to this. They accepted his scrutiny - hell, welcomed it even - and responded with nothing but respect. And judging by the aftermath, weren’t even talking trash behind his back, but fully appreciative of having had a moment with him.

Was he a bully? Could they see through his weakness? Why the hell were these men then respectful of him? This was too confusing for Paul and he wanted to stop this train of thought, but found himself unable to.

Besides! His mind shouted at him. They were respecting him for all the wrong reasons. This war was not why he was trying his damnest to hold strong or why he was holding on to any freaking set regulations. He was glad they were at war, so there were distractions and his wasn’t the sole unwonted situation. And he embraced the familiar tasks so he still had something to occupy himself with and didn’t have to deal with anything else for now.

“I don’t give a damn about this war”, Paul huffed to himself pacing down the empty corridor, his footsteps echoing back from the walls.

“You see then, why they might see that as something to look up to?” Hugh’s voice in his mind responded, “that you won’t let the war affect yourself.”

Paul’s frown eased a bit as he took in this new idea.

“It doesn’t matter what your personal motivators for bravery are” the voice continued, “that you act on them the way you do is what matters to them.”

The brows finally unfurrowed. Flash of relief on his forehead, which had been starting to give him a headache. He chuckled slightly dismissively to his internal dialogue.

“That I need **you** of all people to tell **me** that”, he spoke to Hugh in his mind, “that people don’t give a crap about me - only about what I do.”

“Do you, Paul? Did I tell you that?” Hugh’s voice shot back at him with clear tones of disapproval in it, “I’m pretty sure that is all you. Don’t you ever dare make me sound so cynical.”

A shot of confusion on Paul’s face. He was getting increasingly unsure, who exactly he was arguing against here anymore.

“To them, you **are** what you do, Paul. And isn’t that the way you’ve always wanted it? To be known for your work efforts.” Hugh’s voice explained patiently, despite the apparent lack of receptiveness on his partner currently. “Certainly not for your lovely personality”, he added with heavy tones of wryness, and concluded reassuringly, “they actually respect that of you.”

This reasoning was sounding too much like it made sense. And Paul wasn’t in the state of mind to accept it quite yet.

Fine. They all had their own incentives - he still stubbornly hold on to his self-loathing - and if his messed up demeanor gave the crew what they needed to soldier on, who was Paul to belittle that. It’s not like his own motivations were any more 'noble’ or selfless.

But they were not respecting his suffering. Nor did Paul expect, or fuck all want them to. It wasn’t any of their business. Not anyone’s business. He didn’t expect anything of them. Nor should they of him.

In his mind Paul could almost see Hugh’s eyes roll back at his relentless stubbornness. His Mushroom was getting bitter.

* * *

**Desperate Hour**

Paul had arrived at the cabin door. He stopped and just stood there a moment.

Glancing further down the corridor, he could see a streak of light from the Engineering room’s open door. The night shift was on duty. Maybe he should go check on the situation on the spore harvesting.

No. He really should go get some sleep finally. He turned and lowered his gaze to scan the threshold. His eyes then slowly glazed over into nothing again as he sank back to his thoughts.

“So, is this how it is then?” Paul whispered and continued his internal dialogue: this was normal? Was this how war felt for people who had lost all? Insignificant.

“You’re a war widow now, Mushroom” was all he got back.

Paul leaned on the door with his free hand, clutching on to the toiletry bag in the other. “And not even that” he thought. He wouldn’t ever have the chance to…

He felt a thought manifesting, but quickly shook it off before it got any further. He opened the door and got in.

Closing the door behind him, he found himself actually relieved to return to the cabin. After such an 'ordeal’ at the gym, the solitariness of the cabin now felt comfortingly familiar.

That, and he had been freezing his ass off venturing the less insulated lower deck corridors in nothing but his T-shirt.

“Computer, turn on the heat”, he commanded, while throwing the toiletry bag aside on top of the containers shelf unit the crew cabins came equipped with for personal belongings. His were empty of course; he didn’t have any of his belongings on him aside the PADD he had carried with him the whole day, which now lay on a small desk in the corner of the room.

He grabbed the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around himself. Then sat down to a chair by the desk and opened up his PADD.

“Okay, tomorrow’s schedule?” he announced to the empty room tapping open his calendar. And was immediately interrupted with a thought.

He shifted on the chair and reached for his forearm. Feeling out the hard plastic augmentation with his fingers. Rubbing it in a circular motion on top of his muscles, letting the gentle pressure push against his bones.

They were another reason - the augmentations - why he had felt so bare at the gym dressing rooms. He had only ever really bared them in the engineering for their designed purpose, and with Hugh around in the sickbay or in the confinements of their quarters. He had showed them to few others of course on occasion, but on his own discretion. He wasn’t comfortable letting them 'hang out’ like he had just done. It too left him feeling exposed.

“They keep insisting I go in for a medical examination”, Paul muttered out quietly, while skimming through his calendar, like he was expecting Hugh - his resident consultant on all things medical - to actually answer.

He didn’t like the idea of getting 'probed’ by strangers, but the checkup was certainly something Hugh would’ve insisted he do. He also knew he had been in a privileged position until now, to have his 'private physician’ to take care of him and be able to consult him at any given time.

Paul had managed to avoid the appointment for now in pretense of his diabolical schedule, but he knew it was inevitable. Frankly, he was surprised he wasn’t confined to the sickbay right now, given that no medic had ever released him from the care in the first place. Surely he had his unique expertise on the ship to thank for that again. He had simply waken from his coma and walked out, like nothing, and no-one had come back saying he should be locked in the sickbay until further medic examinations and psychiatric evaluations.

Again he felt bit guilty for repeatedly getting away with things only he in his position would.

Paul scratched the skin on the edge of the augmentation - something Hugh was always adamant in reminding him **not** to do. Right now, he wanted to get rid of them.

They were a reminder. Not only of the man, who had designed them for him, but of possibilities. Possibilities only he had the capability to fully understand - having immensely studied it and been through the mycelial network and back. 

And maybe ambassador Sarek - they had brought it up in their impromptu war conference today.

They had already harvested almost a full load of spores today. More than they could possibly need for now. For several jumps. Paul would have all he needed. He **had** all he needed.

What he didn’t need was this cursed, agonizing temptation, that he could now feel creep up on him, as he sat there at his weakest.

He leaned his elbows on the table and pressed his hands hard against his forehead, digging deep with his fingers, “I don’t know how long I can do this, Hugh.” Tears were now rolling on his cheeks, “I’m trying to do what I know you would want me to do, but I’m afraid, that sooner or later I end up disappointing you again, like I often have.”

“I want you back so bad” he sobbed, tears dripping down on the table, “I **need** you back.”

So bad, he was currently seriously contemplating committing atrocities beyond imagination.

He had the means, and the know-how. He had the experience. He had the authority and access. What was preventing him from getting up from this chair here and now, walking those few steps to the engineering, powering up the spore drive and…

…he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself finish the thought. It would solidify the idea. From there it would’ve been so easy.

“To a lesser man.” he heard Hugh’s voice again, and felt a sudden slight spark of hope, “The Paul I know would never condemn a ship full of unsuspecting, innocent lives for his own, selfish gain.”

Paul let out a burst of audible sobs. “But they didn’t even know. They could all avoid this war altogether by just jumping back” he cried in his mind, as his sobbing intensified. He was falling hard now, and was giving up on even trying to stop it.

“No, Paul.” Hugh’s voice sounded out firm, clear and reassuring, like it had in their moment together in the mycelial network, “this might not be the reality you knew, or the one you like, but this is the only reality these people know of. This is the only life they have. Here they have their loved ones and families. All they have of themselves - all they ever had - exists on this plane.”

Through his erratic state of mind Paul had trouble understanding what he was being told at first, but as the words sank in his sobbing started to slowly calm down. He dried his tears haphazardly and let his head sink down lower still in between his arms, burying his fingers into his hair and messing it up.

“All I ever had exists on this plane too.” Paul muttered out loud with a hint of scorn in his voice. Good, he was back to having rational thoughts, even if he might’ve not fully agreed to them yet. He seemed to be at last trying to convince himself of the righteous path.

He wasn’t however still able or accepting to think of Hugh in the past tense. Would he ever be? Knowing what he knew now of the eternity of the cosmos.

It was late. And whatever solution they had come up with between the commanding factions on the bridge, it would involve Paul’s expertise again.

They were going to perform another jump tomorrow. Could he? Would he be able to follow orders and get them to where they wanted - to **when** they wanted - knowing his own compromised state of mind?

He needed to sleep. Desperately. He needed to make sure his mind would be clear tomorrow. For everyone’s sake.

* * *

**Going All the Way**

Paul shut down his PADD completely. This was something he rarely did voluntarily - not unless batteries demanded it. He wanted to make sure, that he wouldn’t be disturbed by sudden alerts. They knew where to find him, if it was something requiring his immediate attention.

He rose from the chair and to his surprise, through his pained face, let out a little chuckle.

If only they had known what they were essentially saluting him for, there in the gym dressing rooms: the repercussions of his inability to unwind or undress without his lover’s presence. He knew this was a very flippant way of putting it, but he needed that right now. He had to focus on the facetious to be able to relax.

“You still haven’t even taken off your boots yet”, the familiar voice in his head scolded him.

He had **thought** about it: they weren’t the most comfortable of shoes to begin with - grounds for Starfleet to improve upon there.

“You sure you want me to take these off?” Paul conversed with the inner voice whilst sitting down on the edge of the bed again, “they’ve been on for over a day now; it could get pretty rank.”

“Right. Which is exactly why I want them off of you already”, the voice demanded, as Paul unzipped a boot and pulled it off. Heavens, that felt good. Off came the other one. He threw them across the room with unexpected delight - he was done being uptight for today - even risking the probability of finding this negligence disappointing tomorrow again.

“I’m not taking off my socks”, he thought to himself. He was the fungus expert after all - he knew full well what could lurk on the floors of such a rotationally used cabin.

“Fine,” the voice sounded like it recognized this familiar habit, “you’re the expert.”

“Now can I get you out of those pants?” the voice continued, “Or are you now further devoted to keeping them on to keep up the group morale?”

Paul found himself tiredly chuckling out loud again.

“You know I was never much of a team player”, he responded in his head, “I think we can risk it.”

He unzipped his pants, wiggled them off and threw them across the room. They flew in an impressive arc and landed as a formless pile next to the scattered boots. Such laxity.

“There. That’s all you’re getting tonight.” Paul announced playfully in his head.

Then proceeded to get under the covers.

“Are you good now?” the voice asked gently, as Paul settled down and pulled the blanket all the way up over to his ears. He let out a deep, relaxed sigh.

“Yeah, I’m good.” he responded.

As his eyes slowly closed, a quick flashback of all the events of these past waking hours rushed through his mind. All the accomplishments they had had.

“Am I good or what?” was his final though before drifting into blessed rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on the work posted along with the illustration on [**tumblr**](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/170942585784/we-are-undone-but-soldier-on-a-dialogue-in).
> 
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